


Unquiet Dreams

by riptheh



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: AU, Also they hate each other, Arranged Marriage AU, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Fae & Fairies, Pining, Romance, Slightly - Freeform, and slowly fall in love, and the doctor is a changeling but DOESNT KNOW IT, and yasmin khan is the daughter of a duke, based slightly on pride and prejudice, basically in regency era fantastical europe there's fae lands and human lands, does this even make sense, engaged to be married to the obnoxious rich younger daughter of gallifreyan royalty, fae fantasy regency era au, idk if anybody will read this but, is that even a thing?, me trying to tie the timeless children in - ah yes she's fae but adopted by a human kingdom!, slowburn, thasmin, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:53:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24256192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riptheh/pseuds/riptheh
Summary: Lady Yasmin Khan, heiress to the Khan Duchy of England, values her freedom over anything else. Which is entirely problematic when she finds out she's engaged to be married to Theta Lungbarrow, the obnoxious, arrogant youngest daughter of Gallifreyan royalty. Yasmin would do anything to escape the arrangement, but her hands are tied - with war against the Fae lands looming on the horizon, she has no choice but to marry into Gallifrey, strengthening the ties between the two countries in the face of future conflict.However, when Yasmin travels to Gallifrey to meet her future spouse, she soon finds that Theta Lungbarrow might not be all that she seems. Sure, she's spoiled, obnoxious, and entirely rude, but she's also got a secret, one that, by all accounts, she might not even know herself.As war and marriage draws closer, it's a race to both uncover the truth behind their engagement, and see if sparks can fly - or if they sputter out before they even begin.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 33
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wreckageofstars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreckageofstars/gifts), [not_joli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_joli/gifts), [SapphicHymns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphicHymns/gifts).



> LMAO what's that you say? a thasmin au that nobody will read? why yes, I've got that coming up on a silver platter, you're welcome.
> 
> I'm writing this as I go and purely for fun, so updates will be sporadic. I've never written a full au, and I'm not sure anybody will actually read this? but I'm in the mood for fantasy and also regency era vibes, so here we go.

Three summers after the Ivy war, Yasmin Khan learned that she was to be wed.

“You’re kidding,” she told her father upon hearing the news and immediately watched him wrinkle his nose.

“I most certainly am not.” His tone was chiding but firm, the kind that told Yasmin he was speaking as a Duke, not a father. Which was only the worse for her. “Yasmin, it’s high time. You’re nearly twenty five. Do you know how long I’ve been fending off suitors?”

“Not nearly long enough,” Yasmin retorted instantly, only to wince at her father’s stern gaze. “I mean—father—” she huffed and threw up her hands— “you can’t be serious!”

“I’m afraid I am.” Her father adjusted his glasses then heaved a deep breath and shifted his weight, settling one hand upon his nearby desk. His study was crowded, remarkably so, with papers and books he claimed to be important despite the amount of dust they collected. Only his desk, darkly-paneled and decorated with ornate carvings, was free of all but a few letters and a fountain pen. Yasmin found herself staring, not at her father, but at a letter sitting upon his desk, the seal broken and the contents stuffed inside the envelope.

“Is that why you called me in here?” Yasmin pointed to the letter and then, when her father didn’t answer, dove behind him and snatched it up. Her father moved to catch her, but he was too slow.

“Yasmin, please—”

But he was far too late. Before he had even finished turning, the letter was in her hands, the envelope discarded upon his desk. Yasmin unfolded the contents quickly—a single page—and read it out loud, voice trailing slowly off in disbelief.

“We wish you all the best, and will be pleased to entertain your daughter for the duration of the summer at our estate here in Gallifrey…” Her voice dropped off completely then and she stared for a long moment, then looked up.

“You’re marrying me to someone in Gallifrey.”

“Er—” Her father shifted uncomfortably and palmed his chin. “Yes. As it so happens—”

“No.” In an act impertinent even for her, Yasmin balled up the letter and tossed it upon the desk. It rolled to the edge, teetered, and went right over. Her father watched it, then sighed.

“Yasmin, you must be reasonable. You have to have known this would happen sometime. As the eldest, you’re expected to find a spouse—”

“Yes, one I would choose!” Yasmin interrupted, and this time, wasn’t thrown by her father’s warning glare. She only barreled over it, voice growing more furious with each word. “Not somebody I don’t even know in an entirely different country, and a lesser court no less! Father, at the very least, isn’t the eldest supposed to marry up? Not down?”

Her father’s eyes met hers in surprise. “Yasmin, is that truly your concern?”

Yasmin paused, taken aback. “No,” she admitted after a moment. “Choice is my greater concern, father. And compatibility. How am I supposed to marry a person I’ve never met?”

“Well, you see—” Her father rubbed his chin again, his gaze lost somewhere beyond her shoulder, then sighed and dropped his hand. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have mentioned this at all.”

“What do you mean?” Yasmin demanded, suspicion flaring in her gut. “Father, I would rather you tell me than—”

“Yes, and then _I_ get attacked.” Her father gave a rueful chuckle then shook his head, and turned towards the window. For a long moment he only regarded the grounds, the sunlight pouring through, then let out another sigh.

“The truth is, Yasmin, you weren’t supposed to know about the marriage proposal. I thought I’d give you a warning, but—”

He shrugged and turned back to face her, a grim smile on his face. “I had hoped you would take it better than this.”

If his words were meant to calm, they had the opposite effect. Anger flared in Yasmin’s gut, and unconsciously, her hands balled into fists.

“You weren’t even going to tell me?” She was much shorter than her father, but she stepped forward anyway, bristling. “You only meant to ship me off to Gallifrey of all places, and expect me to enjoy myself? To return with an engagement, of all things?”

“Would it have been too much to ask?” her father said dryly, only to quickly raise his arms in defense as she opened her mouth. “Yasmin, I jest! But yes, that was the plan. You were meant to visit, and get to know the proposed. Only then would we bring up the idea of marriage, but—” His face drew taut with distant worry, and he leaned forward, settling a hand once more upon his desk. “Things have been moving faster than we’d planned. You know that the Fae countries have been growing restless—”

“I read the news,” Yasmin interjected.

“—and a strong alliance in the face of the enemy would be invaluable.” Her father heaved a mighty breath, and straightened. “Some alliances come with treaties, but considering that we are not three years past war, marriage seems a much likelier option.”

Yasmin opened her mouth, then shut it again. She rocked back on her heels, dismay running through her. It all made a horrible sort of sense, the kind that filled her with dread, for how could she fight against it? The last thing anybody wanted was war. She herself had served in the home guard when the need had arisen, and though she had seen little combat, the sight of wounded soldiers and the dead and dying had been enough to haunt her memories for months.

But she couldn’t just be—be served away, on a silver platter no less.

“But why Gallifrey?” she burst out desperately, grasping for the one last puzzle piece. Perhaps, she thought without an ounce of hope, it wouldn’t fit in and her father would recount the entirety of his statements.

A dismal hope.

Her father raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Gallifrey allied themselves with the Ivy kingdom,” she said, the words tumbling out in a rush as if to say them faster would be more convincing. “And they’re close to the Fae besides. Some say they’ve even mingled with the fair folk. Why would we ever attempt an alliance with them?”

Her father, for a moment, only studied her in that way he had done when she was a child—as if she were just on the verge of solving a difficult mathematical equation, and he wasn’t about to give her the answer. “Yasmin, think about it. Who best would we want on our side should war with the Fae come?”

And Yasmin saw the answer immediately—along with her defeat. “A country close to the Fae,” she admitted, and with it, surrendered her last hope. “They could provide a tactical advantage, and failing that, would be bound to our side should war come to pass.”

Her father grinned. “Better to trap an ally than to heckle an enemy.” He moved around the desk, fingers trailing over papers and letters. “Yasmin, you know that I am on your side as much as a father could be. But in this instance—” he paused, pursing his lips, then shook his head— “my hands are tied. At least, for the duration of the summer. Whether you marry her—” 

He broke off and shrugged. Yasmin only stared, the words slowly sinking in.

“Her,” she repeated dimly. “Who is she? Do I know of her?”

Her father winced then, in such a way as to tell Yasmin that she most definitely did. “She’s—well, you’ve heard of Braxiatel Lungbarrow? The crown prince of Gallifrey?”

Slowly, Yasmin nodded, her hearts sinking in her chest. She knew—she _knew_ —what her father was about to say, and yet it was the very last thing she wanted to hear.

“Presuming all goes well, you’re meant to be engaged to his younger sister.” He dropped the words cautiously, as if scared of her reaction. For a moment, he needn’t have been. Yasmin simply gaped, too stunned to summon a reply.

“You want me to marry _Theta Lungbarrow?”_ There was the anger, slightly delayed but hot enough to make up for it. “That woman who—who—”

Was the known embarrassment of Gallifrey. Who, while her older brother prepared to rule, spent her time getting drunk, picking fights, or causing enough mischief to reach across the sea and snag the attention of Yasmin’s own house. Who had fought in the Ivy war, and managed to pick out a victory, it was rumored, through sheer incompetency alone. 

Who was apparently meant to be Yasmin’s future spouse.

“Father, you have to be joking,” she managed at last, though she could tell by the look on his face that he wasn’t. “Why should I be wed to—to—”

“You know why, and if that weren’t enough, I have clearly spelled it out for you.” Her father’s tone had dropped into sharpness, enough to let her know he was putting the issue to bed, whether she wanted him to or not. “The tactical advantages are exactly what we need, especially now, with war brewing on the horizon. We’ve hardly put to rest our inter-human troubles—would you rather we delve into an inter-species war unequipped?”

“No,” Yasmin admitted, though she desperately wanted to disagree. The problem was, her father was making excellent points. Following the Ivy war, which some hoped to be the last war between human countries, houses and kingdoms had been scrambling for allies, even if those allies happened to be their own worst enemies. Better to face the looming threat of the Fae together, rather than scattered piecemeal.

Still, that didn’t mean that Yasmin had to like it.

“When do I leave?” she huffed out in defeat, crossing her arms in an entirely childish manner. Her father’s eyes roamed over her stubborn pose, and his eyebrows rose, but he didn’t comment. Most likely, he knew better than to push his own victory.

“In a week’s time,” he answered, and reached over the desk to snag the forgotten letter. “I only have to write back and thank them, but they are already expecting you. The letter shall arrive beforehand, at any rate. They’ll be ready.”

Yasmin stared at him, head spinning, heart slowly sinking. She could feel her entire life narrowing around her, collapsing into a singular, dreadful future—no escape, and no avoidance. Before her stretched a wedding aisle, the bells chiming a mournful tune, and at the end of it stood—what? The last person she wanted to meet, nevertheless marry? A drunk, by all accounts, and spoiled royalty by others, who had done nothing useful besides her regular military duty—and even that, she had bungled?

Trapped. That was all. Like a fox caught in a snare, she’d have to chew her own leg off to escape—only in doing so, she might condemn one of the most important alliances of the day. That was the worst part; that even in her anger she could see the rationale. She could understand the importance behind the decision her father had made, and knew that he had not made it lightly.

That didn’t mean that she had to like it.

“I hate this,” she told him, all deference slipping away, lost in the stark honest that came with desperation. “Father, if there’s any chance—”

“There is no chance,” her father snapped, only to soften as she drew back, hurt. He eyed her for a moment, then sighed, and settled back against his desk, crossing his arms.

“Listen,” he said, every word carefully plucked, “Theta Lungbarrow is not, as far as I know, aware of this match. Therefore, if you deem the situation entirely too offensive, you may return home without risking an international scandal. However, if you do—”

She might doom an alliance upon which the safety of their country rested. He didn’t need to say it. Yasmin understood the implication perfectly. She nodded, a lump slowly forming in her throat, and refused to let it out.

“I understand the situation,” she said, then hesitated. “And thank you, father. For the…warning.”

Her father only dipped his head once, then looked up and studied her with solemn regard. “I trust you to do what’s best, Yasmin. You always do.”

That was entirely an overstatement in Yasmin’s opinion. Still, she didn’t argue. What was the point? She had already lost the battle—no use quibbling over mine disagreements.”

“Thank you,” she replied stiffly, and then stepped back, retreating with all the dignity she could muster. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, father, I’m afraid I must…pack.”

There was no use in packing a week before the trip. Besides, the servants would take care of such things. Still, Yasmin wasn’t sure she could stand to be in her father’s study for a moment longer, not with that letter burning a hole through the burnished wood of his desk. She could feel it, the intensity of the imaginary flames as if they were licking her face, and felt that if she didn’t escape, she might choke any moment on the heat.

Besides, she could do with a good cry. Or something.

Her father nodded, and straightened. “You may take your leave. I must return a response before the day is out, anyhow.”

“Yes, of course.” Yasmin took a step back, nodded once, and then, before her father could say anything else, turned and fled, out the door and down the hallway, leaving her father’s study to recede into the distance.

She didn’t look back, but when she reached her room and closed her eyes, swallowing tears she refused to give voice to, she saw the words of the letter imprinted behind her eyelids.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes im back at it again yes i will be yeeting this at random and maybe more than once a day, yay, maybe? idk

The carriage ride was anything but comfortable, the road illy paved, but Yasmin bore it with the stiff lip expected of her title, and did not complain as they trundled towards the vast estate of the Gallifreyan royalty. It was, in any case, the final leg of their journey, and so she had no wish to see the end without a smile upon her face.

She was, after all, in a foreign country, and one at odds with her own, no less. It would not be prudent to let her mask slip, even if that mask was a simple smile, and her slip a small complaint about the roads.

For all she knew, they might _like_ the poorly paved roads.

“I pray you’ll forgive the tediousness of your journey, Lady Yasmin.” Across from her, the Marquess Romana smiled, teeth glinting under the dim light. Though her words bespoke nothing but kindness, within her face there sat a certain sharpness that Yasmin did not like at all. It was not a malicious look, but it did gleam with cunning, as if she were well-versed in the politics of her own realm, and well aware that Yasmin was not. “It is a long way to travel, and for only a short stay.”

“Hardly a short stay,” Yasmin answered, only to reel back her tongue. Though she hadn’t let slip her reluctance, she was edging dangerously close to showing temper—something she would be ill-advised to do under the roof of her hosts. It was a tightrope she was balancing upon, and not a particularly stable one. 

“However,” she backtracked quickly as Romana’s smile dropped slightly, “I am very excited for my visit. It is not often one of my country finds the chance to visit Gallifrey, considering our strained relations.”

“Yes, well.” Romana’s smile had returned, though now it held the very tension Yasmin had wished to avoid. “If you find the atmosphere permissible, you will always be welcome to extend your stay. Three months is hardly enough time to make an adequate acquaintance, in my opinion.”

“I daresay I agree,” Yasmin replied with a smile so stiff she could feel it starting to crack. Was this an innocent offer on Romana’s part, she wondered, or was there something beneath it? As far as she knew, Theta Lungbarrow did not know about the tentative engagement. That didn’t rule out others holding the knowledge, however, and from what she could gather in the few sentences she and Romana had exchanged, Romana was the type to know all that was happening, whether it was within her realm of influence or not.

She didn’t seem dangerous, just…intelligent. Far too intelligent to put Yasmin at ease. 

But Romana returned her smile, stiff though it was, then glanced out the window. “Oh, here we go. Look, we’re just about to pass through the gate.”

It was a clear invitation, so Yasmin leaned forward, craning her neck to catch the view. She was just in time. With a jostle that sent them both clutching for the edges of their seats, the carriage shuddered to a halt just before a wide, arching gate, the iron bars curving and ornate and inlaid with—Yasmin squinted—swirling circular writing.

A guard flanked either side of the gate, outfitted in the traditional Gallifreyan military uniform of red and gold, and as Yasmin watched, the nearest leapt forward to approach their coachman. She couldn’t spot the man himself from her angle, but she saw a hand extend, and pass forward a letter.

She knew that letter. Her father had written it himself, had sealed it with both his signature and hers—a tradition ensuring her agreement with the visit—and sent it along with her just to ensure that all the proper gates—such as this one—would be opened. Another had long since been sent ahead, but to arrive with papers was a necessary tradition, especially in such tense times, when the rivalry between countries had yet to fade.

Hopefully—though she gritted her teeth at the prospect—a potential marriage would melt such tensions. Which only made it all the more important that she play her part, much as she despised it.

She could only hope, at the very least, that Theta Lungbarrow might play hers.

Then she recalled that Theta Lungbarrow was not aware of her part at all, and was thus unlikely to treat her in any manner other than the one in which she was rumored to treat ladies.

Yasmin stifled a groan, just as the guard stepped back and waved them ahead.

“Is the air of the carriage unsuitable?” Romana was watching her closely, something that might have been sympathy upon her face. It took Yasmin a moment to understand why, and then she realized that she must have let some of her displeasure slide through the cracks of her perfectly placed persona. Quickly, she summoned a small smile to her lips, and forced herself to straighten.

“Not at all,” she lied, her hands templing primly upon her lap. “I’m simply ever so impatient to arrive. It’s my first time being out of the country, you know. I’ve never had the chance to explore neighboring countries.”

“I see.” Romana eyed her, lips pursed together, then gave a thoughtful nod. “I supposed it must be entirely overwhelming, from your end. You musn’t worry, however—we’ll only bother you with a quick tour before leaving you to your rooms. I imagine you’ll want plenty of time to prepare for the banquet.”

For the second time in as many minutes, Yasmin had to stifle a groan. “Banquet?”

“Of course, Lady Yasmin.” A smile stretched across Roman’s face, this one entirely genuine. “We would be utterly remiss were we not to celebrate your arrival. It’s the least we can do. And of course, the Duke of Arcadia will be hosting.”

Yasmin smiled, but it might have been closer to a grimace—at this point, she could feel her control slipping away, her foul mood usurping her own expressions. Of course, the Duke of Arcadia would be hosting. The Duke of Arcadia was Theta Lungbarrow herself, the title only a formality in being second in line to the throne. Yasmin’s own father was a duke, though of a duchy rather than through simple succession, which to Yasmin only meant that he worked for the lands he owned. Governed them, inasmuch as he could. Despite his title, and the rumors that came with such, Hakim Khan, Duke of Sheffield, was an honest man and worked hard to be seen as such.

She doubted Theta Lungbarrow, Duke of Arcadia, could be considered anything close.

“That’s lovely to hear,” she replied, and wondered just how badly her voice betrayed her true emotions. It was getting harder and harder to wrestle it into something resembling patience, much as she knew she must. Vaguely, she wondered just how she would survive the tour of the home, and then it occurred to her that she probably wouldn’t.

So much for appearances.

Romana only smiled wanly, clearly at a loss as to how to continue the conversation. After a moment of awkward silence, she tilted her chin to the window. “In a few minutes we should be able to see the estate. It’s quite marvelous, if I must say, to catch sight of for the first time. We Gallifreyans have, if I may say, a penchant for beautiful things.”

“I can only imagine,” Yasmin agreed politely, but leaned forward all the same to catch a glimpse. At first, she could see only the rolling grounds, pastoral hills dotted with trees, which eventually melted into a dark forest, but only a moment later, they rounded a bend and the estate itself came into view.

And the word estate could only be an understatement, Yasmin reflected, as she gaped upwards at the sweeping palace—for it could only be called that—upon which they approached. It was an enormous building of sweeping pillars and elegant windows, the late afternoon sunlight gleaming softly off of light brickwork. An ornate gate ringed the building itself, which sat before a magnificent fountain sculpted in the shape of an old king Yasmin vaguely recognized.

“Is that—” She pointed, curiosity getting the best of her.

“The Honored King Rassilon? Yes it is.” Romana was watching her in slight amusement, as if she had expected such a reaction and was enjoying every moment of it. “Architecture is a highly valued profession among Gallifreyans. We take pride in creating works that are both beautiful, and will last.”

“I can see that.” Yasmin drew back, resisting the urge to shake her head in awe. Of course, their own king sat in a palace of equal measure, but Yasmin had never had the chance to visit, and her own estate was considerably smaller—though still suitably large. It was impossible to imagine that she may be hosted here, never mind that her supposed future spouse might own the grounds.

For this, she recalled, was not the palace of the queen of Gallifrey herself. This was Theta Lungbarrow’s own estate, magnificent though it was. It seemed, upon a moment of reflection, rather ostentatious to hand over such a grandiose estate to a simple duke, but then, the younger sibling of the crown prince was no simple duke. Different rules abounded.

And, Yasmin thought, it told her much about the people of Gallifrey. Like the fact that they would pour money into elegant architecture rather than more meaningful pursuits. They kept a small standing army, she recalled, thanks to their close relationship with the Ivy kingdom. They were a smallish country, though still one with considerable power.

She contemplated these new realizations briefly, then tucked them away for further examination later. She had no doubt that in the hours between her arrival and the banquet, she would have plenty to think about.

The carriage rolled to a shuddering halt, and with a shout the coachman leapt from his seat and onto the ground. A moment later he was opening their door, as a servant, summoned by the coachman’s shout, busied himself with the considerable luggage Yasmin had brought along.

“Your luggage will be brought along shortly, Lady Yasmin.” The coachman nodded towards the servant, a harried young man in a black and white uniform, who gave her a polite smile despite his clear struggle with her heavy bags. Yasmin winced in sympathy, and swallowed the urge to offer her own hand. In such a situation, when appearances were everything, she would be skewered for such a social slip.

“Thank you.” She smiled at the coachman, only to turn at Romana’s cough. 

“We shall have you shown to your room.” Romana nodded towards the steps leading up to the main entrance and Yasmin took that as a sign to follow. She did so, settling into pace beside her as they ascended to the front doors, and wished briefly that she had thought to wear a lighter dress. The one she had donned, though a pretty light blue, did little to relieve the heat beating down from the early summer sun.

“You will have a moment to rest before the tour,” she continued as they reached the top step, pausing for a moment as the doorman opened the main door. “And then we will give you a brief tour to familiarize yourself with the estate, lest you get lost.” She cast Yasmin a sparkling smile, enough for Yasmin to suspect that such an occurrence was common, and most likely amusing to those well-acquainted with the estate.

“I don’t suppose this tour will include some refreshment?” she couldn’t help but ask as they came into the vestibule. Pillars swept along the room, and enormous staircases reached the highest floors, high enough that, though Yasmin craned her neck back, she could not hope to make out the contents wherein. “I don’t mean to impose, only that it’s been a long journey, and—”

But Romana laughed beside her, utterly unoffended. “Of course. We will see to it that you will have adequate refreshment before the tour begins. In the meantime, our butler—”

She extended a finger, but she needn’t have. Yasmin blinked, and a man was before her, outfitted in a stiff uniform of black and white, the only spot of color his golden cufflinks. She stared at them, and wondered if such a thing was typical Gallifreyan attire. The servants in her own house had no such adornments.

“My lady.” The butler bowed, his nose nearly scraping the floor, then straightened and gave an impassive nod. His whole person was impassive, his face a carefully crafted mask of taciturn emotion. “I would be honored to escort you to your rooms.”

“My rooms—” Yasmin began, then shut her mouth. Who was she to argue the grandeur of her stay? Ostentatious it might be, but if she was here against her will, she might as well enjoy the things she was given.

So she closed her mouth and nodded firmly. “Thank you. I would be pleased to see my quarters.”

Romana reached into a pocket of her dress—an envious adornment, and something Yasmin admired jealously—and withdrew a pocket watch, which she studied for a moment before snapping it shut and looking up. “Our timing is perfect. You’ll have plenty of time following the tour to relax before the banquet, and you of course, you will be furnished the necessary maids to help you dress.”

“Er, wonderful.” In truth, Yasmin hated dressing with maids. She had grown out of the habit when she’d served in the home guard, and never quite returned to it. She had no wish to pick it up now, but as with many things in her life at the moment, to refuse was too scandalous to be a viable option. “Thank you, Lady Romana.”

“My pleasure.” Romana inclined her head, then nodded to the butler, who turned at once. Yasmin turned as well, only to be called back by Romana’s voice.

“Lady Yasmin—” Yasmin turned back to Romana, only to be met with a sharp smile, the kind, she thought, that immediately put one on edge.

“Yes?” she said.

“Do be on time.” Her grin widened slightly, to resemble that of a shark. “You may not know this, but here in Gallifrey, we care very much about time. And the running of it.”

“Oh. Of course.” Yasmin nodded, then turned back to the butler, waiting patiently a few feet away. “I would never wish to cause offense.”

“I don’t doubt you would,” Romana said, but the words were quiet enough that Yasmin thought she might have imagined them. She didn’t reply. She only strode after the butler, making his way down the hall, and tried to quash the flicker of unease deep in her belly.

She never quite managed it.

—————

The butler dropped her off in a room which, upon closer inspection, appeared more akin to a suite than any casual bedroom. Yasmin, even though she was used to such finery, couldn’t help but be impressed by the pure expansive space of the estate. Her own room led into a bathroom, a dressing room, a large closet, and a small sitting room, the use of which she could only wonder at. She couldn’t imagine who she was meant to entertain in her own bedroom.

Except for—

Yasmin shut the thought neatly away in her mind, and turned to the butler.

“Thank you,” she told him, to which he only gave a short nod.

“I am afraid that dinner has already ended, my lady, but I have instructed the cooks to prepare a meal and serve it in the second dining hall. You may find it two hallways down, and to the left. Should you need assistance, you may ring this bell—” His hand moved to a bell set into the wall, part of an extensive system to call the servants, one similar to the kind Yasmin recognized in her own home— “and a maid will be with you shortly.”

He paused, and his eyes roamed over her, slightly gauging in a way she knew she ought to expect. Yasmin had spent enough time as a girl among her own servants—permitted or no—to know that gossip ran freely downstairs, and the arrival of an esteemed visitor would be plenty to set the rumor mill afire. Even worse, though she was certain that word of her engagement had been kept to the top echelons, her arrival as an eligible daughter of a duke would be enough to send lips flapping. Certainly at the banquet tonight, all eyes would be on her, as both guests and servants alike tried to guess just who she was bound for, or failing that, who she would choose.

Yasmin wasn’t particularly looking forward to it. 

“Thank you,” she told the butler again, pressing enough implication into the last word to let him know she’d rather be alone. He seemed to pick it up immediately; he bobbed into a bow, nose once more nearly to the ground, then turned on his heel and took off, leaving the door to shut behind him.

Yasmin watched it close, and fought back a heavy wave of homesickness. This was all incredibly new, and came on the heels of news she’d rather never hear. The country, the people, the customs she would have to learn, all under the weight of the social persona she would have to maintain was enough to send anybody’s back bowing. She could already feel it settling on her shoulders, pressing her into the floor.

It was a lot to take in. And to top it all off, she was very hungry.

With a sigh, Yasmin looked around, half-hoping that her bags might have arrived and she’d be able to change out of her traveling dress, but there was nothing. Only the enormous bed, smack dab in the middle of an empty room, in the middle of an estate so large it felt empty itself, though she knew it couldn’t be. Outside, servants would be roaming about, lords and ladies and other guests would be arriving for the evening’s festivities, and somewhere deep in the estate, Theta Lungbarrow could be found, doing whatever it was she got up to in her spare time. Somehow, Yasmin had a feeling it didn’t involve actually running the estate.

She had never even seen a picture of her, she thought with a sickening lurch of her stomach. Occasionally, when seeking a hand in marriage, the proposer might commission a portrait to be painted and send it to the proposed, in the hopes that it would be deemed suitable. With Theta Lungbarrow unaware of her engagement, there had been no such portrait—and of course, it wasn’t as if Yasmin had ever met her. She was flying blind, in more ways than one.

The weight on her shoulders grew, ever so slightly.

“Right.” With another heavy breath, she straightened, forcing some confidence into her posture. If she couldn’t feel it, she could at the very least pretend it existed. “Food it is, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rip yasmin also tbh all i know about regency england comes from pride and prejudice i watched ONCE, a smattering of research, and watching downton abbey (which is not regency england at all.) WE FLYING BLIND FOLKS


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyy it's ya boi, back at it with another chapter!
> 
> in another words: these two losers finally meet

It took only one turn of a corner for Yasmin to become hopelessly lost. 

Though she had thought—thought—she’d impressed a fairly good memory of the path the butler had laid out for her, upon navigating the hallways, it became enormously clear that she hadn’t the hallways themselves seemed to twist and turn, looping back upon themselves until, by the time Yasmin passed the same study for the third time, she nearly threw up her hands and gave in, right then and there.

She didn’t, if only because to surrender would be no help at all. At least, she determined, as she turned down another hallway. She could find her way back to her bedroom, ring the bell, and have a maid assist her.

That is, if she could find her way back to her bedroom. 

“Oh, for heaven’s—” she muttered as she turned another corner, only to find herself at a crossroads of hallways. Down one of them stretched a corridor she couldn’t recognize, and to her right sat a deep alcove she didn’t bother looking down. Instead, she glared at the hallway in front of her, then spun on her heel to backtrack.

Only to be stopped at the sound of a voice.

“No, no, that can’t be right—” Yasmin froze, then turned slowly to the alcove she had neglected to investigate. For a moment, she saw nothing, but a step closer brought her around a sharp outcropping of the wall, and face to face with a blond woman.

Or rather, face to back, for the blond woman didn’t even deign to look up. She was bent over something Yasmin couldn’t see, her tongue sticking out and her brow furrowed as she skillfully applied a strange tool to whatever it was she was working on. She didn’t seem to notice Yasmin, and for a moment, Yasmin just stared, wondering if she should bother her. She definitely wasn’t a servant. She wore only breeches, boots, and a white shirt she had neglected to button entirely, and her hair, which reached only to her chin, looked as if it were in need of a good brush.

She looked, in short, utterly mad, and so Yasmin hesitated.

The woman frowned and paused in her work, tilting her head to study the mysterious object. As she did, her hair fell across her face, and she reached up a distracted hand to push it back.

That was when her gaze came up, and connected with Yasmin.

“Hey!” The woman startled, straightening immediately and shoving the tool behind her back. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

“I—” Yasmin stared, at a loss for words. For a moment, she genuinely couldn’t recall. “I’m here as a guest. I just arrived, and I was searching for the—”

“Oh.” The woman frowned, her hair falling back into her face. Absentmindedly, she reached up to brush it away with the hand holding her tool, then jabbed it towards Yasmin. “You’re here for the banquet, aren’t you?”

Yasmin stared at the tool. It was a shiny silver, the end an orange gem which glowed softly under the lights of the hallway. “What—what is that?”

Immediately, the woman snatched it back. “Never mind that. Something I built. Are you here for the banquet?”

“Uh—yes,” Yasmin answered, then opened her mouth to ask another question, only to close it because she couldn’t figure out which one she wanted to ask. ‘Who are you’ was the obvious one, but this woman spoke with the air of locality, which meant that she most likely lived at the estate, which meant that such a question might come off rude. She hesitated, then settled on one less unbecoming. “What are you working on?”

For a moment, the woman only stared as if she didn’t expect her to ask such a question. Then, a positively wicked smile spread across her face, the kind that told Yasmin that whatever she was working on, she probably ought not to be.

“Want to see?” she said, and jabbed her tool towards whatever lay beside her feet. Yasmin craned her head to look at it, but only saw bits and bobs of machinery, and couldn’t make head nor tail.

“I suppose,” she said haltingly, though in truth, the woman’s smile had set her entirely at ill ease. Whatever the woman was doing, Yasmin had a feeling she ought not to be involved, and yet felt certain she couldn’t risk saying no. 

The woman’s grin widened, and she leaned back with an air of invitation. “Quick, come in here,” she said, and swept a hand across the alcove. Yasmin gave a quick look around, half-hoping a servant would swoop by and save her, but there was nobody about. Therefore, with a deep breath, she carefully stepped into the alcove, only too aware of the small space and the woman’s apparent disregard of proper distance.

“Alright, look.” The woman’s elbow was jutting into her side, but she didn’t seem at all apologetic—or indeed, to notice. Instead, she only passed a hand over the disassembled machinery, her eyes alight with a look Yasmin could only term mischief. “This is part of the bell system the household uses to communicate with the servants. Well, it used to be. It’s not anymore. I took it out.”

Yasmin gaped. “Can you do that?”

The woman only shrugged, then jabbed her tool towards the disassembled bell system. It could only be a part, Yasmin felt certain, but she couldn’t help but wonder just how much havoc such an innocent prank wreaked upon the servants. Was the bell system even meant to be taken apart? And who was this woman to decide that she could? 

Deep inside Yaz, dislike welled up, though she kept it firmly quashed for the time being.

“I mean, if you’re speaking technically, I can because I did.” The woman used the tool to move aside a bit of metal, frowning. “I’m trying to figure out a way to make a more advanced communication system, one which you could actually speak through, only I need—”

A noise in the hallway sent her jerking upright and spinning around, elbow narrowly missing Yasmin’s face. Yasmin turned as well, and only had time to watch the woman hastily shove her tool into the waistband of her trousers.

“Alright, time for me to leave.” She was shaking her head as she did so, cursing as she accidentally jabbed the tool into her side. “Don’t need the servants angry at me again, not after last time—”

“Wait—!” Yasmin darted after her as she stepped into the hallway. “You can’t just leave—”

But the woman was already gone by the time Yasmin tumbled out of the alcove. She had turned a corner and disappeared, and such was the confusion of the hallways that Yasmin had no idea where she might have gone off to.

Which meant she was left alone, lost in a maze of hallways, with a disassembled section of the bell system sitting behind her. Yasmin gaped, unable to put action to her shock, or indeed, or frustration, until a squeaky voice came from behind.

“Pardon me, my lady—”

Yasmin turned to the curtsy of a maid only a few years younger than her, her face pale with fear as her eyes flicked over Yasmin’s form, trying to place her.

“I’m here for the banquet,” she said automatically, because that seemed the easiest. “And as a guest for the summer. I’m Lady Yasmin Khan, of the Khan Duchy.”

“Oh.” The maid’s eyes went round, but she bobbed her head in understanding. “My apologies, my lady. Did you need—”

And then she trailed off as her gaze moved behind Yasmin, to the disassembled system on the floor. She stared at it, then looked to Yasmin, her mouth open as if she didn’t know what to say.

That was when Yasmin realized the connection she was making.

“Oh, I wasn’t—” she said, stumbling over the words in her hurry to assure the truth. “I mean, I didn’t—that wasn’t—”

But what could she say? The evidence might as well have been a mirror, reflecting her own self back. She was caught red-handed, only she wasn’t the one who had committed the crime. And yes, she certainly wouldn’t receive punishment or condemnation, but sometimes, a bad name was enough. Particularly among the servants.

Yasmin’s heart sunk to her toes.

“I didn’t do that,” she said one last time, but she could tell the maid didn’t entirely believe her. Still, after a moment she nodded, though her eyes remained on the disassembled system, a deep furrow between her brow.

“Would you like some assistance, my lady?” She said at last, and Yasmin clung to the offer eagerly.

“Yes,” she said, and for the moment put aside the strange, obnoxious woman and her rude brush off. Later, she would mark her out, and make sure never to approach. She had enough things to worry about. “I’m actually looking for the second dining hall—”

—————

The tour, contrary to Romana’s assurances, was exceedingly long, exceeding tedious, and did nothing to inform Yasmin of the correct way to navigate the hallways. In fact, it only seemed to complicate the matter further, for the excitable young noble who led her through the maze of corridors moved at breakneck speed, never pausing in his pace or, indeed, to catch his breath in his explanation. 

By the time Yasmin returned to her room, she found herself both short on time before the banquet, and in the company of several maids, all already busy in their preparations for Yasmin’s dressing. It was the exact scenario Yasmin had wished to avoid, with adequate time before the banquet, but it was too late to argue, so she allowed herself to be pulled into the bathroom by the harried maids, and kept any and all complaints to herself.

To their credit, the maids were entirely professional, diving into their work with a businesslike air that told Yasmin they knew exactly what had to be done, and were intent on achieving it in record time.

It was almost unnerving, if she was being honest.

“You must be awfully experienced,” she remarked as one of the youngest maids busied herself with piling Yasmin’s hair atop her head. There were certain styles Yasmin preferred, most of them the type to flow down her back, but she had a feeling the Gallifreyans weren’t very familiar with such styles, and so didn’t push it. “Have you been preparing the other guests for the banquet?”

“Oh no, my lady,” the maid answered as deft fingers weaved her hair into a curling updo. “Actually, we don’t often get the chance to assist those so highly ranked. It’s quite the honor.”

“Oh.” Yasmin frowned at her reflection in the mirror. “Who do you assist, then?”

It was a second maid, this one hard at work on her make up, who answered. “Whomever the duke wishes to entertain, my lady. Usually lower class ladies from the near cities. We’ve never had the privilege to work with someone from England before.”

“Hmmm.” That told Yasmin plenty about the duke’s preferences. She half-wanted to press the line of questioning, and dig out a few more truths about Theta Lungbarrow’s preferences when it came to woman, but knew that such a thing might tip the maids off. The servants in any household were known to gossip, just like those who moved above them, and a loose word thrown out in ill-caution could certainly come back to bite later.

“What about the duke herself?” she asked instead, moving along to a more innocent thought. At the very least, she could pry out a little more information about the duke and her habits. “I imagine she would need plenty of ladies in waiting.”

In the mirror, she caught the unhappy, pursed-lips frown of the maid working on her hair. “Oh, the duke dresses herself, my lady. She refuses to allow the servants to help her.”

“Besides,” another maid piped up from where she worked on Yasmin’s dress, “the duke prefers masculine clothing, my lady. It’s not uncommon here in Gallifrey.”

“Oh.” Yasmin nodded, digesting this. Of course, there were ladies in England who preferred masculine clothing, but Yasmin had grown up in dresses and skirts, and had in fact missed them while wearing the uniform of the home guard. Though trousers provided plenty of maneuverability, she had been happy to trade her uniform in for traditional feminine clothing.

“I see,” she said politely, and watched the maid nod as she put the finishing touches on her hair and stepped back.

“You’re finished, my lady,” she said, and nodded towards the dress. “And just in time, for we’re only an hour out from the banquet.”

“Oh—right.” Yasmin’s polite small dropped like a rock as she glanced towards the dress and suppressed a sigh. Whilst she might enjoy wearing the dress itself, getting into it was another thing. She knew they would need every minute of that hour. 

“Alright.” She rose from her chair, drawing her robe tight about her, and turned, forcing a grim smile upon her face. “Let’s get dressed.”

——————

By the time she was dressed and ready to leave her room, the banquet was indeed just on the verge of beginning. A kindly maid showed her the way to the Banquet Hall, and left her at the door with a quiet reminder to wait for Romana.

“She’ll show you to your seat, my lady.” The maid curtsied, then turned to leave. Yasmin watched her as she weaved through the gathering crowds, childishly wishing that she might have stayed. Though Yasmin had all the experience one might expect of a duke’s daughter in social events, she had never navigated one outside her own country, and rarely alone. She usually brought a plus one, except that tonight, by all intentions, she was the plus one.

She wondered just how well aware her host was of that fact.

“Ah, there you are!” Romana’s welcome tones sounded behind Yasmin, who immediately turned, a smile of genuine relief spreading across her face.

“Lady Romana.” She dipped her head as the marquess approached, and waited for the returning acknowledgment. Though Romana had several years on her, Yasmin retained courtesy use of her father’s second title as a marquess, and thus was equally ranked with Romana, making greetings tricky. Better to stick to a small acknowledgment rather than a deferential curtsy or bow. 

Romana nodded in return, then extended an elegant hand. “Lady Yasmin, you look absolutely stunning. Did our staff provide adequate care?”

Yasmin thought back to the near army of maids who had assisted her into her dress, and nodded as she took her hand. “More than adequate. Your servants are highly professional, Lady Romana.”

Romana smiled. “Glad to hear. Come, let me show you to your seating.”

She didn’t wait for agreement, but simply led Yasmin through the sweeping doors and into the Banquet Hall, which proved to be an expansive rectangular room decorated with exquisite paintings, the walls frescoed and tapering into an arched ceiling. A long, U-shaped table lined the room, at the head upon which several finely dressed nobles were already seated. Yasmin looked at them, then glanced to her own dress. She had chosen a light blue, ruffled garment with plenty of space in the skirt, but once glance at the Gallifreyan guests saw that red, gold, and other darker hues were the preferred color scheme. All of a sudden, she felt extraordinarily out of place.

“Lady Romana,” she hissed as she approached, “do tell me there’s no defined dress code.”

Romana gave her a look over, then let out a gentle laugh. “No need to worry, Lady Yasmin. You stand out in the best possible way. I always thought it about time we bring some brightness to our festivities.”

She leaned in closer as they came within earshot of the head table, voice dropping. “Personally, I find our country’s fashion sense ever so dull.”

“You—” Yasmin glanced at her in surprise, then gave a closer look to the head table. Sure enough, now that she was really looking, the nobles’ fashion appeared dreadfully out of date, or at least to English standards. Several of the older guests wore strangely high collars, of such a nature that Yasmin had to turn away after a quick look, stifling a laugh.

“I would never admit that I agree,” she said under her breath, “but—”

Romana laughed beside her, and gently steered the two of them towards the head table. In the middle, where Yasmin knew the duke to be seated, there stood an empty chair, and beside it, two others. She had no idea who they might be meant for until, to Yasmin’s horror, Romana turned right to them.

“Lady Romana—” she whispered, her arm tensing in Romana’s grip, “you don’t presume to seat me beside the duke.”

“Why not?” Romana gave her a look of surprise. “Lady Yasmin, you are our honored guest. This banquet is held in your name.”

“I—” Yasmin began, then shut her mouth and grit her teeth. Of course, she would have been a fool not to expect such a thing. Still, she had been cautiously hoping that she might be able to observe the duke from a distance, to get a read on her before they might be forced to interact.

Now, clearly, she had no such chance.

“I understand,” she surrendered, and allowed Romana to bring her to her seat, as a footman hurried to bring out her chair. “I’m only a little…nervous, is all.”

Romana tutted sympathetically. “Perfectly understandable, Lady Yasmin. But I am sure the duke will be a favorable host. She’s ever so excited to meet you.”

“Is she?” Yasmin turned to face her, suspicion flaring. The words had the rote ring of a lie to them, as if Romana were uttering pleasantries other than any real fact. “I knew she was aware of my coming, but I hadn’t realized—”

“Oh, yes.” Romana smiled, but it didn’t entirely reach her eyes. She wasn’t telling the truth, Yasmin realized, or at least, she was hedging. “And she’ll be introducing you too, at the start of the banquet. In fact, she should be here at any moment.”

“Oh. Wonderful.” Yasmin nodded and turned to her plate, a sense of nausea sweeping over her. Suddenly, she wasn’t anywhere near hungry. She only wanted the entire thing to be over with, so that she may return to her bed and wipe away any memory of the day having happened, in preparation to start again in the morning.

It would be, she reflected dismally, an incredibly long summer.

The room was already starting to fill, the guests taking their seats, and, as the minutes wore on, so too did the head table become full as various nobles of high rank that Yasmin didn’t recognize took their chairs and began to talk quietly amongst themselves. Romana herself leaned over to a dark-haired man in a purple suit and began to engage him in conversation, though by her murmured tones, Yasmin got the sense that she didn’t like him much at all.

And still the duke had yet to arrive. Soon, all seats were taken except the one just to Yasmin’s right, and she became ever so uncomfortably aware of the fact, along with the unignorable scrutiny the guests were starting to lay upon her, as if she was the one who had caused it. In a rational sense, she knew that the rest of the room was looking at her mainly out of curiosity, rather than malice, but she couldn’t help but wonder just how many of the guests were drawing the connection between Yasmin’s placement at the head table and the empty chair beside her.

Then, just as she thought she couldn’t bear the scrutiny anymore, she heard a voice from behind.

A _familiar_ voice.

“I told you lot, I don’t want to—”

Yasmin froze. Her heart stilled as well, then slowly began to sink.

“Your Grace, you are required—”

“Oh, stuff speeches, I’m not—okay, fine! Fine! I’m going.”

Around Yasmin, the table had slowly gone silent, as nobles passed knowing looks and meaningful glances that Yasmin could only begin to parse. She didn’t turn around, but kept her eyes on her plate, her mouth dry and her heart pounding in her throat, as a huff came from just behind, followed by the violent scrape of a chair.

With a heavy sigh, Theta Lungbarrow collapsed into the chair just to Yasmin’s right, immediately sinking low into the seat like a stubborn child. For a moment, Yasmin refused to look up, just because she didn’t want to confirm what she already knew.

But there was no use in hiding from fears, and if the person to her right would act like a child, then Yasmin was determined not to. So, with a sucked in breath, she swallowed hard, then glanced to the right.

The blond woman she had met in the hallway didn’t even notice her gaze. She was too busy glowering out across the Banquet Hall, her brow drawn together and her lips pursed in anger. One hand played absentmindedly with one of the forks by her plate, though Yasmin knew it was bad etiquette to do so. She appeared fully lost to the world, stuck in her own haze of petulant anger.

“Bloody ridiculous,” she muttered, as if Yasmin couldn’t hear her. “As if we need a banquet to greet some—”

“Your Grace.” Romana’s cool and collected tones came from Yasmin’s left, and startled the duke out of whatever she was about to say. She jolted upright, then twisted around, and shot Romana a glare.

“What do you—oh.” Her eyes never quite reached Romana. They found Yasmin first, and widened. Her mouth dropped open, and hung there in an unsightly manner. “You’re—”

Beside Yasmin, Romana cleared her throat. “Your Grace, allow me the pleasure of introducing Lady Yasmin Khan, daughter of the Duke of Sheffield, and your honored guest for the summer.”

And judging by the look on the Duke of Arcadia’s face, it was the last thing she wanted to hear. 

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos always welcome! i would love to know what yall think
> 
> also sorry for all the exposition but next chapter we jump right into the action bc im impatient for them to meet


End file.
